


Raze

by Of the League (Serpyre)



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpyre/pseuds/Of%20the%20League
Summary: Years after the Second Titan War, legends were told of how Percy Jackson, instead of fighting Luke, trusted him & gave him his only blade even if he betrayed them more times that they could count. His fatal flaw turned merit.But what if that wasn't what happened?What if Percy didn't give Luke the knife? AU.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

_x_

_Even now, I stare at the damp, withered and torn pieces of paper, its once white colour now tinted dark yellow with splatters of dried red, its familiar musty aroma mixed with distinct odours, one I can tell from anywhere even if my senses are diminishing with my passing age. My shaking, wrinkled fingers hold the old papers as if it is a relic, which in some ways, it is._

_Heroes… they speak legacies of their deeds, they crow about the ways that they will be honoured, they tell the next generation on how they will be, forever and eternally remembered._

_But a few hundred years later - perhaps even a decade later, I assure you that no one will be able to even recall their names, even if they had built hundreds of monuments honouring themselves, even if they had put their names in thousands of legends, to be passed on to the next generation of youth._

_Maybe they had done something worthy to be remembered in their life - but those who are usually do not boast; modestly do not tell their tales; and because of that we forget their legacies. We remember the crude; the selfish; the hated — and not the loved; the cherished; or the appreciated._

_And because of that, we will never know. Usually, it is those who do not deserve to be remembered get remembered, their goals and achievements in life becoming examples of what one shouldn't do._

_My old age torments me. My life is diminishing like a passing, fading ember — what once had burned so brightly, with impulse and discipline and desire has to come to a silent end._

_My journeys, my goals, my achievements — everything I've done is passed on, is being passed on to the younger generation as I write. It is hard to imagine me - a legacy! Though I had never asked for this, nor do I ever want this. They may say that I had done great things — things that helped to shape the world herself — but in my heart, I know that I had not. They were just writing down my multiple failures, all my rash decisions that had caused a life or two, my imperfectness._

_So, as my clock keeps ticking, as the hands keep moving - I will write about someone — somebody who does deserve to be remembered for their deeds — somebody who should be remembered for all they had done, all they had sacrificed to help shape this world… but had been forgotten, along with his companions in favour for a new world to be built, leaving behind the horrors of the last._

_My hands tremble as I transcribe their memoirs, written down hastily in pieces of broken paper. I fear that my shaking will cause the ink to splatter, but that is the least of my worries for now. I am the only one that remembers._

_For now, I will transcribe the papers that I had found during my many scavengings. I can only hope that they will be remembered, but what the future generation does and what they do remember is not in my hands._

_For now, I will keep transcribing. Until my last breath is taken, or until the clock stops ticking._

…  _Who am I? I am Jason Grace. And this is the story of Percy Jackson and the goddess Artemis, who has saved us all from a fate darker than death._

 


	2. Wrong Choices

_Annabeth stared at the figures before her — so close, and yet so far away. Her vision threatening to dim any moment, she saw Percy, standing over the crouching figure of Luke, burning with yellow light as if he would dissolve any second._

_Her dagger wasn't in her line of vision, but she knew that it was in Percy's hands, waiting for a decision to be made._

_It was his choice. His decision. One that she, nor Grover, nor anyone could influence._

_She could only hope that he chose the right one._

_x_

Percy stood over Luke in the throne room, dagger in hand. His heart was beating rapidly not only from the fight he just endured, but also from the turmoil of emotions — uncertainty, fear, anger, alarm.

''Give me the blade, Percy,’' he croaked.

He knew his friends were behind him. They trusted him to make the right decision.

_But what if there was_ no _right decision? What if this was another cruel trick of the Fates?_

He stole a glance at the writhing image of Luke. His aura—or Kronos's, he couldn't tell—was flickering with upset yellow light, and Luke's face was caked with sweat. A smell of ozone filled the room, as he wrinkled his nose. 

The place was a mess—thrones stashed aside, forgotten at one side of the room. Most were in a bad condition, some even missing handles and legs. Zeus's throne, in particular, was demolished—the lightning-holder, for example—once strapped proudly to the throne—was broken and thrown carelessly aside, now residing amongst the rubble. Percy didn't think that Zeus would like that very much. He knew that if the thrones were destroyed utterly, the gods would slowly fade among it. Hestia's hearth was ransacked, its fire flickering and threatening to die any second. Rubble filled the room. Smoke blew in the utterly trashed room, lighting a poor, sad atmosphere— completely unfit for a king, let alone gods and goddesses.

He and Luke stood in the centre of the throne room, his blade in hand, ready to make a decision. He was dimly aware of the fact that Annabeth was behind him, unconscious, Grover tending to her with his Woodland Magic.

Luke's words echoed in his mind.  _Give me the blade, Percy._

In his mind, Percy thought about Athena's words, how his fatal flaw was loyalty, or how all his friends were depending on him to make the right choice, or the line from the Prophecy;  _a single choice shall end his days._

What if he was just handing his enemy the sword? What if —his choice— to give Luke the knife ended his days?

He remembered Athena's words.  _Your fatal flaw is loyalty, Perseus. You would rather let the whole world rot than to save your friends. This, is very, very dangerous, especially with you being the prophecy child…_

It was true. Percy would put the whole world in danger to help his friends. But this was Luke. Luke, whom has betrayed them a thousand times over. Luke, whom pretended to be their friend but only to betray them once the time was right. Luke… whom couldn't be trusted.

Luke gasped, his eyes flickering from sky-blue to golden. His whole body criss-crossed with rays of light like the window-shards of a cathedral seeing dawn. But unlike a cathedral, his body was the window and the dawn was Kronos. 

Luke groaned, as if each ray hurt. ’'Percy.. knife… got no time..''

Percy wanted to trust Luke. He really did. Annabeth trusted him. Grover trusted him. Thalia trusted him too, once. 

_But then he betrayed them. He turned their backs on them. You can't possibly trust him, Percy._

Athena's words echoed in his mind a thousand times over.  _Your fatal flaw is personal loyalty. You would put the whole world in danger to save your friends._

Percy heaved a breath. He was tired beyond measure, and yet…

_A single choice shall end his days._ He heard the Fates repeating that single line over, and over again, the tiny string being snipped…

A single choice… It was his decision that  _he_  was making, right now. He was going to die on his 16th birthday anyway. So why did it matter? He knew that the Fates were cruel. But… how was, how  _could_  he hand over the knife to Luke, not knowing if it was the correct decision or not, not knowing if it would end in perseverance or raze? Not to even mention the countless times he'd betrayed them, over and over again?

His gut told him yes, hand over the knife. Trust Luke. His brain told him no, he couldn't possibly be  _this_  stupid, to fall to the weavings of trickery from the Fates.

_Hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap…_

His soul. So why hasn't it happened yet?

_Because it was going to happen… right now._

How was he going to hand over the knife, knowing that it would only lead to his death? He knew that he would die during his 16th year, but it was in his human instincts to survive.

So he refused.

The blade clattered to the ground, sparks emitting as it scraped the marble floor.

Luke smiled—though it was not of blame nor bitter—it was of regret, but dying understanding seemed to spark in his eyes. Beads of sweat rolled down from his forehead, as the rays of light and the glowing of his body became more frequent in pattern and strength….

After that, it became a rollercoaster of events—he couldn't remember what happened, at least not clearly. He heard Luke scream (in pain or delight he didn't know), as the blinding light grew even brighter. He heard Grover yelp and Annabeth shriek in fear. He thought he heard the demigods rallying, determined to make a stand. He thought he saw visions of gods, one after another, falling prey to Typhon. He thought he saw the Empire State Building being overwhelmed by the sheer amount of monsters. He thought he saw Kronos, laughing, laughing, and laughing...

x

Percy awoke with a start, his breathing laboured. Rubbing his blurry eyes with his fingers, he sat up. As his surroundings became more apparent, his mind was thrust back to Luke.

_One choice shall end his days. Luke. Kronos. The knife._

_Oh gods, the knife…_

_Please let it be just a bad dream.._

He tried to get up, but promptly fell back down. His knees were shaking as if it was made out of jelly, and he leaned against a boulder for support. He eventually found the strength to stand, and he did. His heart was beating at rates that would've surpassed heart monitors. He shuddered, as the barrage of memories assaulted him…

Suddenly, he was acutely aware he was underwater.

He didn’t realise it earlier because, well, he could breathe underwater. But now, awake and ready, Percy was surprised that he hadn't noticed it earlier. There were usually some subtle changes when he was underwater—for instance,feeling the unbridled powerof the sea, which was sometimes calm,but nevertheless anyone could feel it whirring and vibrating with energy—the power of which could drown an entire city if it wanted to. Or else he might’ve heard the many whistles and clicks or shrills of the sea creatures, communicating louder and shriller than your average gossiper. Or feeling the rage or the fury of the sea whenever Poseidon was angry, its waves roaring and swirling into tornadoes of the sea. Whatever the state of the sea was, no matter how calm or angry… still, it was there.

But… it was gone.

Percy felt a little disturbed, but let it go. As Annabeth would put it, there was no use mulling over something that was lost, before  _he_ became lost. Better get up and figure out the answers himself.

Suddenly, he felt a pang in his chest.  _Annabeth._ Were she still alive? Was his friends? Where was his mother and Paul?

_Calm down,_ he chided himself. _Thoughts aside, actions first. Don't lose yourself in thoughts._

He took a glance at his surroundings. Almost immediately, he stumbled  _away,_  and taken aback, he stared at the scene open-mouthed in surprise. The water was murky, colours a tenfold deeper than stilled rivers. It was murky dark, as if tainted with something... or by someone…

How long had he lied there, unconscious and underwater, unaware of his surroundings,in the bottom of the sea floor?

He rubbed his eyes, to make sure he was seeing clearly. He was. And that ''boulder'' that he leant on for support… it was a reef of corals, but instead of the bright, fresh and lively coral he was used to being within Poseidon’s sphere of influence, the cluster of corals were black and decayed and frozenin a angle of terror, as if an explosion shocked it to death…

Percy took a few steps backwards, momentarily stunned by the realisation. It was then in the distance, when he thought he saw — no, he _saw_ a misty figure in the distance. As he peered closer, though, he realised that it wasn't just  _any figure_.

_First stop_ , he thought.  _Poseidon's Sea Palace._

_x_

He didn't want to go. Yes, he was afraid, and he was almost afraid to admit it. He was afraid of what he might find. He was afraid of what he might see. Afraid of what he might discover.

He felt like he was back in Manhattan, in the throne room of the gods, facing Kronos— _no, Luke—_ and his inevitable destiny…

But it was like a calling—a beckoning that he couldn't resist. His brain told him no—told him to run away from the dangers and to find a safe place, a safe haven to stay in.

_But to where, young Demigod? You'll soon see that there is no where else you can go, no more safe havens… Mount Olympus itself is reduced to rubble, and you will see the destruction that we caused.. because of you. We must thank you, for all the service you've done for us… you’ve made our job a lot easier. Just come out of hiding, Demigod, and we'll give you your ‘’safe haven’’. I'll gladly finish you off, and you can go join your friends. It's a win-win situation, isn't it?_

Percy vigorously shook his head. He was imagining things.

Even if he didn’t want to enter Poseidon’s palace, he had to find answers, and he knew that Poseidon's Palace was the key to at least one of them. He needed to know what he did. And it was a coward's way to run away from their mistakes.

Finding the determination within him, he continued on his swim to the palace, ignoring the echoing voices that floated in his mind, and the ebbing, murky visions that kept on appearing. _Was he going insane?_

Percy broke into a frantic swim. 

_What are you doing, young one? I believe the surface is_ upwards,  _Demigod_. _There is nowhere safe for you in the sea…_

Percy growled, and frantically tried to blot out the voice in his head. A few seconds later, though, he cleared his throat. ''Excuse me, weirdo-in-my-head, but shut up. Go find someone else to bother. I sincerely hope you go to Tartarus for your help, have a nice day.''

The voice seemed to snarl, and for a moment Percy thought it was gonna retort. _Very well, Perseus Jackson. Have it your way…_

To his relief, the voice disappeared.

Percy felt his pockets for his sword. He took out his pen, and let out a sigh of relief. It was a miracle that Riptide was still with him, not that he'd ever doubted his sword's ability to return into his pocket, just that, well, with all that happened, one could easily expect magical items to stop working.

He glanced forward at his destination. His Dad's Palace wasn't far away, and he was determined to make it there before the sun sets.

x

He stood in front of the massive gates, and feeling the unusually cold water made him shiver. Staring at the gigantic gates, he felt like he was a mouse staring at a Titan.

Percy wasn't sure what to do. He could just swim over the gates, but he was sure that Poseidon put more protection to his palace than just a single gate. He could also try and force the gates open, having the Achilles's Curse and all, but he didn't think that the Curse with a dose of Immortality included strength. Also, he had no way of knowing whether if he still had Achilles’ Curse or not, and he had no idea if it had faded after the initial explosion. He didn’t want to test it either. 

He also doubted that he had the strength force the gates to open. He had an inkling of an idea that had sat in the back of his mind for awhile. It was so ridiculous that he couldn't help but scoff at the mere thought of it… but then again, he was the son of Poseidon after all, so perhaps it might work. No harm in trying, right?

''Uh..'' he mumbled awkwardly. ''Open?''

It was something he'd heard happen in fairy tales, and the second the words went out of his mouth, he instantly regretted it. It was dumb, and he almost half-expected the voice in the head to laugh at him. Instead, with a loud  _whoosh_ , the gates creaked as the gates slowly slid open.

Percy decided that he had questioned things enough today. Without a word, he stepped in.

The sight that greeted him beyond the gates was painful. Dust and rubble was spread throughout the palace. The place was ransacked, and his father's throne was in pieces—Oceanus must’ve had it broken in half, and then proceeded to destroy it. There was fallen columns and the ageless roofs had caved in, and the palace seemed to be only kept intact by a weathered but sturdy column in the centre. 

Percy saw the desolation of the palace. He saw the sad remains of Merman and other aquatic sea creatures, who was simply trying to protect the palace but were slaughtered by a series of onslaughts that they couldn't possibly resist. The palace reeked of dead, and he didn't need a son of Hades to smell it. Thousands of broken swords and shields and spears lay tattered across the marble floor, amongst the midst of broken bodies, all their hopes and dreams vanquished in an instant when the war bells rang.

_Oceanus's forces must've laid waste onto the palace when Poseidon went to help the other Olympians_ , he thought grimly. It was hard to imagine that this was all his fault—but it was.

Because his father agreed to stop Typhon, thousands had to die in the sea god’s place.

Percy winced. He didn't want this. This wasn't what he asked his father to sacrifice to help the Olympians. This wasn't… this wasn't what he wanted.

No wonder he didn't feel Poseidon's essence when he was underwater, nor had he felt the sea's power. He remembered Annabeth lecture him about the sea, once—when they tried to find some common interests when he dozed off during the middle of lecture by one of Athena's children.  _Oh gods_ , he thought, as the gravity of the situation slammed itself into his dazed head once again. Annabeth.  _Where was she? What had happened to her? Was she..?_  No. He couldn't let himself think that. Instead, he concentrated on the words she'd said during the lecture.

_The Palace of Poseidon mirrors the sea’s state, she'd said. Whenever the palace is at its height of power, the water is similarly changed to reflect it._

With it now in ruins, it wasn't a surprise that the sea, too, was in a bad state.

_So you see now,_ the voice chuckled in his mind, but Percy didn't bother trying to shoo it off. _He_ did _this_ , and there was no turning back.

He didn't want to see the palace any more. Damn the answers he was trying to find. He had to get away.

_It's no better on the surface, young one…_

He ignored the annoying voice in his mind, and swam away from the destruction. He didn't know where he was going—but he didn't care. Anywhere but here.

_x_

_Son of Poseidon,_

_Left the ocean in favour for the surface;_

_Sought out for the truth and secrets untold,_

_But as the Voice had warned,_

_No, the surface is no better still._

_But despite the warnings, he fought on…_


	3. The Surface

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

* * *

It was dark. That was all she knew.

She could dimly make out the darkness of the day, the territory of her domain rising. It was night.

In the darkness, she tried to move but found that she couldn't. Did she feel the distinctive feeling of… pain?

Why did it hurt? It wasn't supposed to hurt.

Her mind was buzzing. She tried to recall what happened but she couldn't. The pain was getting irritating, but she tried to ignore it. That didn't help.

She tried to move her body. Her body didn't respond, but she could hear her heart thumping. It was still working, then.

Then why couldn't she move?

She wanted to growl, to force her body to move. She always pushed her limbs to more than their limits, but they always worked. Her body never failed her, and it shouldn't, not now.

Why didn't it work? It always worked.

She knew that the body was damaged. It was temporary—it always was. Damage always healed. Damage was just that—damage. Just minor problems that were annoying, but did no lasting mark. Perhaps a scar or two that would mutilate her body, but that was it. Wounds healed over time, and she healed faster than the most.

But she felt that this was more than that.

She tried to force her body to move. She concentrated single shard of energy she had in a desperate effort to move, to  _feel,_ to do  _anything_. The energy she was using to think, the energy that her body was using to heal,  _whatever_ minuscule particle she could gather she funnelled into her limp arm.

…

…

With tremendous concentration, she managed to move her arm, just by an inch.

She managed to grin slightly, but all of a sudden she realised that her body was slowly — but steadily going into shock.

_No! Not this, not right now._

She forced her body to stay conscious, and she felt a wave of relief overcome her as she felt her nerves responding to her commands, fingers tingling as they slowly revoked the feeling of numbness.

She was stirring into consciousness. That was always a good thing.

And then, she remembered.

_By the gods. Kronos and his allies. They're coming… they're coming! We need to leave now… We need to go!_

And at the same time, her body went slack.

_x_

All she saw was darkness, and yet—she knew she was awake. The aches on her body were apparent, and whenever she tried to stir, the pain flared as they screamed for her not to move. In the end, she stopped her shifting, and lay back on the clearing—and let the pain flow freely through her limbs.

Where was she? She couldn't remember.

'' _Don't you remember me?'' The mechanical eyes of Orion stared into hers, blank, unyielding. When nothing flickered in recognition, his eyes cast downwards in shame._

It was dark—pure dark. She couldn't see even a single, dancing shadow of her prey, she couldn't see the grounds or the forbidding light of the moon, she couldn't see the stars, she couldn't see  _anything_.

'' _The stars, milady… the stars are alight tonight…'' the dying voice of Callisto reverberated painfully within her. Face of a bear long gone, humane features twisted in concentrated pain, a shaft of a spear from her son buried deep within her stomach._

'' _Yes, my huntress…'' she blinked away the tears blurring her eyes. ''Yes, they are. I've never seen stars so bright… I've never seen them shine brighter than the moon.''_

She growled. She forced for her eyelids to open, to see where they were, to see what had happened, to see how they could get out of here... but to her surprise, they didn't open.

'' _There was nothing,'' she remembered hearing Orion recount. ''It was an eternal lapse of darkness, lighted only with memories and creativity.'' A wistful smile lingered on his lips. ''I don't miss that world.''_

She couldn't believe it. Her body had always responded to her every thought, her every command. It couldn't stop now, especially not now.

'' _Fuck the Chimera,'' she growled angrily as Apollo furiously applied ambrosia to the bite wounds. Her nerves paralysed; sweat tainting her forehead and her body numb, she could only grit her teeth and lay there helpless as Apollo tended to her wounds._

_She was glad it was Apollo and not some other god._

_She was in pain. She was helpless. She couldn't see._  She let the thoughts envelop her like a blanket. She would be lying if she said she wasn't worried—but her wounds always faded into nothing but scars, fatal injuries into bruises, paralysation into small, mere throbbing numbness. In short, everything healed. She was immortal, and she couldn't die. There was nothing to worry about.

But this time... it seemed different.

Ignoring her mind and her eyes and the excruciating pain, she sat up. Ichor flew back into her mind, the pain intensifying by the second—she dimly felt the sensation of ichor spurting from her wounds. She dimly wondered why the wounds hadn't healed yet.

She reached for her bow and arrows, hoping that those were at least with her. She felt relief surge through her limbs, dulling the pain when she found her weapons beside her. Instinctively, she gathered them from the soft Earth, cradling the arrows like she did a newborn child two millennia ago, like what she'd done a million times on hunts, retrieving arrows from her targets, resharpening the tips that had grown blunt, collecting and reusing the ones that had been broken off…

'' _He's coming!'' She yelled at Eileithyia. Hurriedly passing the blankets towards her, Artemis glanced at her mother one last time, breathing laboured and sweat glistening on her forehead and her stomach expanding at no end._

_She squeezed her eyes shut, and a few moments later she was cradling a newborn boy, her mother relieved of her pain and Eileithyia celebrating, as the ten Olympian gods descended from their safe place in Olympus to greet the two new Olympians._

She ignored the blinding pain that jerked up from her arm, shrieking at her to stop as she took the bow from the clearing. The aches in her body flared, and she doubted that pushing her body over to their limits helped.

'' _What do you mean, I can't hunt?'' she glared at her brother, who was busy tending to the withered Ares, cheekbones sunken and skin pale from his time in the jar. ''I'm not the one decaying unlike him.''_

_Ares sent her a meaningful glare, but it was ignored by the Letoides. Apollo's overprotective eyes scanned her bruised self. ''You're running yourself bare, Artemis. Since…'' he hesitated, ''… Orion, you've never paused to rest. Even an immortal has their limits.''_

'' _But it's a war, Apollo,'' she protested. ''The Aloadae threaten to take Olympus for themselves. And they want_ _ **me**_   _as their wife.'' she spat disgusted. ''I won't let them win. I can't.''_

She shifted herself steadily, forcing her shaking legs into a crouch. She was determined to at least stand, to at least defend against her inevitable end… but the tiredness was catching up on her. She knew that she couldn't strain her body any further. She could imagine her eyelids drooping, letting the pain ebb away as she drifted out of consciousness...  _no! Not now._

She badly wanted to tell herself to stop, to stop pushing herself in her blind search for arrows, to stop and let the pain wash over her body, to let her body recuperate from their injuries.

But she refused.

Deep inside her, she knew that if she passed out again, she would not wake up.

 _The Embrace of Thanatos_ , she thought.  _The Embrace of Death_  was near.

It was impossible, but… she felt it, a phantom aura, dark and twisted and tainted with the unforgiving stench of Death. Immortality wasn't going to stop him. He was going to come. She couldn't cheat Death, but she wasn't going to go out defenseless without a fight, either.

She grunted and ignored the increasing bursts of pain coming from her body all over, as she reached for her arrows. She felt her arms getting heavier by the second, legs struggling in its crouch, body becoming more unresponsive to her commands with every arrow. Breathing heavy, sheer exhaustion felt to overcome her like a tidal wave.

_It doesn't matter. Let go, and stop fighting. He will eventually come, and you will eventually tire. Why does it matter?_

She could almost imagine Death… a peaceful sleep, where she could finally forget about her aching wounds that tormented her and let Death wash over her. Let go.

She imagined seeing her huntresses in Elysium, finally rejoicing with their mistress. She imagined seeing Orion, his crooked grin and his defined muscles, welcoming her into hell's haven—she imagined seeing Zoe, a silver bow in her hand as the lieutenant greeted her leader—and she imagined seeing Callisto, as she welcomed her into her arms and she apologised for a thousand times and a thousand times more.

But in Elysium there was no moon to see at night.

The images morphed, all too quickly. Orion's bloodstained dagger, a silver arrow protruding from his forehead, face frozen in a scream that never sounded. Zoe Nightshade, impaled by her father, her dying words to see the stars that never existed in Elysium. Callisto, a roaring bear, scorned by Artemis and speared and feasted on by her son, living under the Fields of Punishment she never deserved.

No. That wasn't the world she wanted to go to.

She winced. The pain was becoming unbearable now—her thoughts were muddled, her brain registering nothing but pain. She could almost feel the red flashes behind her eyes, spots spinning as her body tried to comprehend the pain.

She growled, and in response—in one jerky movement, dragged her limbs forward. She wasn't gonna give up. She  _couldn't give up_.

She had to live for her hunters.

First things first. Her wounds.

She needed to make a tourniquet. She could tell that at least one artery in her arm was bleeding severely, and contributed to the worst ichor flow. But to do that, she needed an arrow shaft. She desperately gripped her bow tightly, and drawing her hand another inch forward, she felt something cold—another arrow tip.

She grasped the arrow tip, and held it in a closed fist. Almost instantly, her hand exploded with pain, and she realised that the tip was digging into her palm. She internally cursed herself for the stupid mistake. She didn't need more pain inflicted upon her weak self, especially with being so close to Death that the stench of his aura nauseated her.

The world felt to spin, and her head throbbed with intangible agony. She let the arrowhead drop to the moist grass, and she almost smiled in satisfaction, but the movement only made her wounds scream and her dark vision spiral.

A wet cough. Her tongue tasted metallic with ichor. She forced herself to continue, for if there was a broken arrowhead meant the shaft was near—and she was right. She felt the worn wood as she ran her fingers over the shaft, pricking her finger on the split ends but she didn't care. She found it.

She tried to take it... but felt something warm underneath. A warmth she was probably not very familiar with, but she would know his aura by heart.

So Apollo was with her. The irony of her situation almost made her laugh—but she didn't need wet ichor flowing into her lungs. Just by touching him, she could feel her wounds closing up, the pain retreating… the scent of Death drawing further away every passing second. His healing aura flowing upon hers, the quiet mending and his welcoming warmth almost made her feel at peace. For once, she thanked her obnoxious brother.

He must've been unconscious—because he didn't make the slightest movement, a single sound, which was unlike of him. However, his protective aura surged through her body, as if he were awake. Usually, she would playfully berate him whenever he became over-protective, fully knowing that she could protect herself just fine. But this time, she could use it. Knowing that she was safe, she lay back down on the soft grass, her bow and arrows safe by her side—ready for any sudden fights, any silent attacks.

It was like before… but this time, she let her body drift off to its distant rest.

_x_

Percy wandered aimlessly in Manhattan. He surfaced on Manhattan shore, and… well, he didn't really have a 'set goal' in mind. He just wanted to get out of the sea, and now he did, he realised that the voice in his mind was right.

There were burning buildings everywhere. Some were partially destroyed, and smoke spewed everywhere. Titans lumbered across the streets, the pavement half-cracked from the sheer size of their strength. He sometimes had to scurry away from them before they stepped onto him. To them, humans were ants, and their lives were worthless.

He was dazed. He almost couldn't believe it, but he knew it had happened. Kronos had taken over Manhattan. The Titans had won the war, and the world was suffering under their rule. The gods had lost, and now the Titans had them captive, alive or dead he didn't know.

The memory was fuzzy at first, but now it was as clear as day. Why didn't he trust Luke? He knew that he was  _somewhere_ ,  _anywhere_  deep within the dead body that Kronos possessed… he knew that Luke was in there,  _fighting_ for a chance to live… fighting for a chance to stop Kronos once and for all.

 _Why didn't he give Luke the knife?_ He cursed his idiocy. The prophecy proclaimed that he was going to die anyway, so why did it matter? But now here he was, still alive… and Kronos's forces prowl the streets. His friends were gone, and the gods more dead than alive. He had to leave. He had to get away. Gods, he had to get away from this...  _nightmare_.

 _Snap out of it,_ he thought to himself. What would Annabeth do in this situation?

She'll assess the situation, she'll use her wits to collect information and formulate a plan. Then, she'll use that plan to make things right.

 _Okay,_  Percy thought.  _Then do that._

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a tavern—made out of redwood, it was a surprise that it hadn't caught on fire like the other buildings had. It looked like a cottage, but unlike a cottage it was huge—he would be better off describing it as a mansion. The entrance was large, large enough for Titans to enter and do whatever they did inside.

Now, just how he could get inside…

_x_

Percy carefully crept on the attic beams. He tried his best not to make the slightest sound—if he did, the Titans would notice… and he doubted that that'll be a good thing, even if he did bear Achilles' Curse.

(Did he still have Achilles' Curse? What if it had faded in the explosion? He didn't want to test it out.)

He was in a tavern—a bar. The putrid smell of wine was strong, and even equipped with years of resistance with Gabe and his alcohol was incomparable to… this. Percy would've pinched his nose if he wasn't balancing on an attic beam.

It was noisy downstairs, and he heard the many  _clinks_ of glasses and the occasional sound of something shattering. It was hard to make out the voices of the Titans, but he tried his best to eavesdrop.

Just below the beam he was on, he saw two unruly Titans—one directly below him, so he couldn't make out their face, but he could recognise the face of the other. The second Titan was, well, on fire. Literally. He dimly recognised the taut, angry face—Hyperion.

 _Wait, what? T_ he last time he saw this guy was when he and Grover encased him in bark. He had hoped to never see him again, but apparently, the tree wasn't strong enough to hold him... or maybe he had asked for his Titan friends for help to escape.

The smell of burnt wood wafted across his nose as he noticed rows of melted glass cups and various wine bottles smashed on the table, liquid dripping out from its emptied carcasses. Hyperion probably wasn't a very popular guest at parties.

''... That son of Poseidon? Kronos says he's dead.''

''I don't think so, Hyperion. Kronos'll let anything get to his head, and he wants to believe that all the gods' children are dead, even the one that's bathed in the Styx—the son of Poseidon, you speak of. Even though the gods are supposed to be the improved versions of ourselves,  _pah_. I personally don't think he's dead—I've sent some troops out to find him…''

Percy's heart was beating in his throat, but he felt like an iron fist was closing around his heart. It was Prometheus's voice, once pitying and somewhat kind turned bitter.

Hyperion's laughter boomed across the bar. ''There's no need for that, Prometheus! Why capture their children… when we have the gods themselves!'' He grinned and slapped Prometheus on the back. Prometheus looked very uncomfortable, and Percy couldn't help but snicker a little at that.

''I know, Hyperion… but we can't wait any longer! Kronos wants to sacrifice them to Gaia on the day he killed his—your—father… but there's no time for that!'' Prometheus said, exasperated. ''We know that they'll escape soon… it's just a matter of  _when_. Hell — those two Letoides almost managed to thwart our Lord's plans… but Kronos put them down soon enough,'' he muttered, satisfied.

Hyperion nodded frantically, and slammed his bottle onto the table. It shattered, glass pieces flying everywhere as it did—hitting a few guests as some not-very-friendly glares were thrown at him. He didn't seem to notice them or had either decided to ignore them. Intimidating a Titan of Fire was harder than it looks. Then, he suddenly coughed, droplets of wine spewing everywhere. Needless to say, the glaring only got harder.

''I mean... I agree with you on the Letoides. That was fun. Serves them right for trying to escape,'' Suddenly, he cackled hysterically like it was some sort of joke. A few moments later, he calmed down. ''Not the 'can't wait' parts. We all know that the next Prophecy's began, since... y'know, the first line was fulfilled. But it doesn't matter, considering the fact that Kronos'll kill the Fates themselves! We can dictate our destinies!'' He began to laugh maniacally.

 _Another Prophecy?_ And here he was, hoping that he didn't need to deal with another one in his short life. He almost mimicked Prometheus and let out an exasperated sigh, before remembering where he was.

Prometheus looked more than uncomfortable, as if Hyperion had slapped him on the back two more times. His demeanour stayed the same, but was that a glint of... panic in his eyes? His voice lowered until it was almost a whisper, and Percy had to strain his ears to listen. ''Perhaps other prophecies can be avoided, Hyperion… but not this one. From what I've heard, this Prophecy cannot be stopped, nor manipulated or delayed or changed. It was repeated by all three Oracles; Pythia, the Grove of Dodona, and from sources that I've heard from Krios... even from the Cave of Trophonius.''

Hyperion suddenly seemed to still. He inclined his fiery head, like he was telling Prometheus to indulge him.

Prometheus heaved a deep breath. Did he almost sound wistful? ''The first line, about the Letoides... was fulfilled. Kronos exiled them to die on Earth, but that doesn't change things. The next Great Prophecy is beginning, and Kronos is afraid. He doesn't want to show it, but it's still the same. The second line is up next, and I'm afraid I know what it means... which is why I have to hunt  _Perseus Jackson_  down.'' At the end of the sentence, his voice dropped to a whisper.

Percy's heart beat like a hammer. He still remembered Prometheus' kind smile when he left him Pandora's pithos. He claimed to be neutral, to work for the winning side… but he'd heard, at least in myths, that Prometheus had a love for humanity. What happened to that when he joined the Titans?

Hyperion belched. His interest for what Prometheus had to say seemed to have deteriorated to zero. ''Stop being a spoilsport, Prometheus,'' he coughed. ''Even if the Prophecy's this huge deal, so what? We can destroy Pythia, the Grove of Dodona, and the Cave of Trophonius all in one fell swoop. Prophecies isn't our destiny. We can change it!''

If Prometheus wasn't under Percy, he wouldn't've heard him sigh. ''Destroying the messengers won't matter if the prophecies' already foretold,'' Percy heard him mutter.

Suddenly, Prometheus' demeanour seemed to change as he straightened up. ''Anyway, no, Hyperion. 'Destiny' literally means 'something that is set in the inevitable future—something that will and must happen. but I am not here to literate you on that.''

He turned back to Hyperion. Percy's gaze wandered onto him as well. Hyperion was currently flirting with a few disgusted guests. Both he and Prometheus almost let out another sigh.

''Anyway—'' Prometheus said, significantly raising his voice to get Hyperion's attention. ''They're gods. The improved version of us. Why should we expect that they'll stay there like sitting ducks? No. They'll revolt. They'll find a way to break free from their bonds, no matter how  _impossible_  Kronos claims it may be. The second Titanomachy will end! They'll be the end of us!''

Hyperion coughed, more wine spewing from his mouth—disgusting the current guest he was flirting with as she switched tables—but despite that, he cracked up. ''Try telling that to Kronos.''

Prometheus sighed. ''You're drinking too much.''

Percy watched the quarrel between the two Titans, wondering when it'll ever end. Staying up here, silent on the beams was entirely against his nature. He tried to shift his position a little, but he heard a slow, painful creak come from one of the wooden beams. He froze.

Prometheus stared above, right at Percy. If Prometheus was surprised, he didn't show it. ''Why don't you join us, Percy? It's not very nice to eavesdrop.''

Percy's heart stopped, but his instincts reacted first. He jumped down from his beam, and at the same time, drew Riptide from his pocket. It immediately sprang into a full-sized blade. The Titans and guests must've recognised it was a lethal weapon because many of them screamed and ran for the exit. ''Sorry for crashing the party!'' he yelled.

Prometheus smiled at him kindly, but there was a cruel spark in his eyes. ''Oh, it's not much of a problem, Percy.''

As Hyperion caught a glance of Percy, his entire mood changed. His fires died down. The grin on his face transformed into a frown. He growled, his whole body suddenly glowing with spurts of fire. His eyes reminded Percy of Ares's—but brighter. He shoved Prometheus roughly aside and eyed Percy angrily.

The partying was over.

The heat that emitted from him was searing, but Percy was determined not to back down from a fight. He steeled his screaming nerves.

''I'll deal with this little upstart!'' he roared, but paused for a moment. He turned to Prometheus. ''This is the one that encased me in that stupid piece of bark, right?''

Prometheus coughed timidly. Percy guessed that he wasn't very used to dealing with angry Titans. ''Uh, no. I believe the one you're trying to find is the satyr… who should've died in that blast already when our Lord was raised.''

Percy felt a turmoil of emotions spin inside him. Grover, dead? It didn't seem possible—it wasn't possible. That wasn't possible. If Grover was dead.. then he should've been, dead too—connected by their Empathy Link.

No. It wasn't possible.

Percy's blood boiled. He couldn't see clearly. It was as if Ares's aura was affecting him again—but this time, it was a thousand times worse.

''Oh,'' Hyperion looked thoughtful, seemingly entirely oblivious to Percy's rage. He ignored Percy, and turned to Prometheus. ''Okay. You can deal with this one. Prove yourself worthy of the ranks of our species, Prometheus—or die trying!'' he said, laughter rippling through the bar. ''Wars are tiring, even for someone as great as me. It's also been quite some time since I flirted with anyone!'' And with that, he casually strolled out from the tavern.

Prometheus let out another exasperated sigh. ''Hyperion, I'm practically a few ranks higher than—you know what, never mind. Also, you just flirted with a girl a few minutes ago.''

Hyperion had already left.

Prometheus turned towards him, somewhat of a piteous look in his eyes. Percy pretended to not notice. ''I truly am sorry for this, Percy. I do not fight, but the situation is dire. Kronos is already doubting my loyalty to him, as  _I_  myself am. So...'' He hefted his sheathed blade.

Surprised was an understatement from what Percy was feeling right now. How could a tyrant scare the Titan of Forethought so much that he would follow  _orders_ from him when he had vowed not to approach war, to remain neutral and not to fight by both sides? Or worse yet, go against his own morals? He decided not to approach that subject, instead choosing to continue observing Prometheus.

He was looking at him pityingly, but there was a cruel spark to his eyes. ''You are a fine species of human, Percy… but Hyperion wants you dead. We  _all_  want you dead. No doubt you have overheard my conversation with Hyperion, and I can't let anyone running around with that information. Besides,  _you_  play a part in the Prophecy, and an integral part at that... and we are determined to keep it from happening.'' He unsheathed his blade from its scabbard, revealing a wickedly sharp and shining sword, its hilt studded with jewels.

''I thought that you liked humans. Why don't you take the chance and defy Kronos's orders?'' He said, hoping that it was the correct thing to assume. ''After all, you  _created_ humans. You can't turn on them now!''

Prometheus sighed and sheathed his blade. Percy's spirits lifted—that is until he spoke.

''Humans… your species has grown so much in such a short amount of time, and you've all started when I gave you fire.'' Prometheus let out a wistful sigh. ''But still, it doesn't change the fact that your species is disposable. Yes, I like humans… but I've accepted the fact that there is no more hope for them, and so should you.''

''Besides—as you put it,  _take the chance_. No, I wouldn't take a chance and defy his orders. I'm the Titan of Forethought. I've thought of what would happen if I decided to betray Kronos many time already… but there's no single outcome that would work. And he is the King of the Universe, Percy. If I defied his orders, where would I go? What would I do? He'll hunt and put me down before I can even utter a single word.''

Percy was struck with a sudden realisation. He finally recognised the tone and voice that was in his head, not very long ago. ''So you were the one who spoke in my head,'' he said.

Prometheus looked mildly amused. A thin line resembling a smile ran across his lips. ''Oh yes, Percy. I tried to warn you… but alas, you didn't listen. You see,  _I_  didn't want to hunt you down to kill you. Despite everything, I do care for humans—or at least, however much of you guys are still left—and I'd hoped that you would make the right choice.''

''It's not that,'' Percy growled, his hand in his pocket as he fingered for Riptide. ''You wouldn't warn me for the sake of your conscience. It's something else.''

Prometheus sighed. He began to surround Percy, like a predator stalking its prey. ''Fine. I wanted to save you so you could fulfil the Prophecy. Titans are my kin, but they are no better than the gods. My life—my world and my creation was destroyed for the sake of destruction. I have allied with the gods before because they were more  _reasonable._ I want—no,  _need_  you to save the gods. It's the only way we can save this world.'' He paused, for a moment, before adding: ''Even if it means my damnation.''

''If you want me to save the world, then step aside,'' Percy said. ''Don't fight me.''

Prometheus' eyes were kind. ''No.''

Percy growled in frustration, his eyes glowing red-hot. ''No? Fight me, then,'' Percy said. ''Or are you too much of a coward? To fight the species you created?''

Prometheus's eyes hardened. His once kind smile turned into a sneer. ''Very well.. if you insist.''

He unsheathed his blade once more. Just as it left its scabbard, Percy heard an almost inaudible click, and the sword suddenly grew twice its side, the tip of the blade hardening and spreading rapidly until the entire blade seemed to be made out of wood—and Percy watched in horror as an edge of silver grew out of the wood.

Moments later, Prometheus wasn't holding the sword anymore. He was holding a Scythe.  _Kronos's Scythe_ , he thought.

Prometheus looked at it with mild fascination. ''Interesting, isn't it? I still wonder how such a contraption works.'' He turned towards Percy. ''If you were wondering… no, this isn't Kronos's weapon. He likes to keep it safe and sound on his belt.'' Suddenly, out of the blue — Prometheus swung his scythe—and Percy managed to react just in time, thanks to his ADHD—the scythe missing his head by an inch. Prometheus didn't stop there, however. With blinding speed, the scythe folded back into a sword, and he dashed forward to where Percy was lying and aimed a quick strike at his throat.

Before he could, though, Percy rolled out of the way just as the blade struck downwards, causing Prometheus's sword to slice through the wood. Prometheus growled in irritation, and by the time he managed to free his blade from the wood, Percy had dashed behind him and landed a strike on his unprotected back, and it cut through his skin like paper—and his blade reappeared on the other side—his stomach.

Prometheus howled in more anger than pain, and turned towards him, hate burning in his eyes as he swung his blade in a wide arc, its tip managing to hit Percy's side—but it merely bounced off harmlessly from his body.

Prometheus's eyes widened as he crumpled, now on his knee. He had used up all of his energy on his final attack. ''How—'' he managed.

Percy winced, but he managed to hide it as a shrug. ''Achilles' Curse, remember?'' He pulled the blade out from Prometheus's body, and his form collapsed onto the cold, hard floor.

 _Do not mistake him for dead, Percy._ He thought, his father's words bouncing in his mind. Prometheus, too, was immortal—and this would just bide him some time...

''THERE!'' A male voice yelled. ''THERE'S THE DEMIGOD! GO GET HIM!'' He screamed, followed by the sounds of weapons clashing, choruses of yells and frenzied stomps.

 _Crap,_  he thought. Without another second thought, he ran for the exit.

x

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, surprise!
> 
> This AU is about what if Percy didn't give Luke the knife. I'm interested in seeing if anyone is interested. This is a bit of a test-run - and please review and tell me whether if you think I should continue or not!
> 
> Pairing really depends. I'm not entirely sure yet, but once I am I will add it as a tag.
> 
> Please review :D


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